Point of Dreams

“Oh, maybe one in ten has some talent, or at least experience, most of that from the university. But the hard part is persuading them to do what they’re told.”

That was no surprise, Eslingen thought, watching the landames greet each other with kisses and cries shrill as a seabird’s. Their skirts caught the light, the occasional silk overskirt hissing against fine linen and better wool, and their brothers and husbands, left behind, greeted each other more discreetly.

“At least you have the looks for it,” Siredy said, without jealousy, and Eslingen glanced at him.

“Does that really make so much difference?”

“You’d be surprised,” Siredy answered. “Though to be fair, it’s less the looks than the ma

No, Soumet wouldn’t be to their taste,. Eslingen thought, and shook himself. This was no different, or not much different, from serving with Coindarel. He’d drilled enough young nobles to know exactly how to handle them, how to flatter, when to drive, and how to make them proud to serve, even if it was a play this time, and not a regiment. He drew himself up, aware of a landame’s smile, hidden instantly behind a flourished fan, and Siredy said softly, “See, now? You’ve already won them.”

“Let’s hope so,” Eslingen answered, and Gasquine stepped out from among the actors. The movement was pla

“My friends and colleagues,” Gasquine said, “and the landames whom I hope will soon become our colleagues, welcome to the Tyrseia, and to our play. We are fortunate this year in our play, and in our noble sponsor, who has so generously pledged not only his name but his gift of flowers to make this piece the success it deserves to be. I ask you to begin by greeting him as he deserves: I present to you all the landseur Aubine, our patron and sponsor.”

Eslingen clapped politely. The actors were more enthusiastic, the noble chorus distracted, still whispering among themselves, and he had to look twice before he could pick out the landseur. He was an older man–well, perhaps not as old as he looked, Eslingen amended, but certainly dressed like an old man, all in grey wool and white linen, without even a line of braid to trim his coat. Even his buttons were plain jet, expensive but undemonstrative–there were actors who were better dressed than he, and the chorus outshone him without effort. His brown hair was equally undistinguished, and it had to be his own, hanging loose without curl across his shoulders as he made his bow.

“The flowers are really nothing,” he said. He had a good voice, Eslingen thought, surprised, low and resonant, and he knew how to project to be heard in the Tyrseia’s cavernous space. “A small thing, from my succession houses. But I hope you will all take them as a tangible sign of my hope for our success.”

“He has the most notable glass houses in the city,” Siredy said softly.

So of course he’d sponsor The Alphabet of Desire, Eslingen thought. Why not? Though it did make a certain amount of sense, given how obsessed the city seemed to be with flowers. He said aloud, “He doesn’t look like the sort to get involved in the theatre.”

Siredy gave a knowing smile. “Oh, that’s another story.”

Gasquine stepped forward again, introducing the senior chancellor, who in turn would introduce the noble chorus, and Eslingen couldn’t suppress a sigh. It was little to no surprise to him that Caiazzo was not present. He did not get involved with these things for the sake of either his name or reputation, he got involved with them because they were reasonable–and legal–investments. For a brief moment, he envied the merchant’s absence, though his acerbic comments would have been amusing. Siredy touched his arm, took a careful step backward. Eslingen copied him, and realized that they had stepped into the shadow of one of the massive set pieces, out of sight of the majority of the chorus, and the few actors waiting on that side of the stage. It was a giant triangular column, painted on each side with a different part of The Drowned Island’selaborate scenery–there were at least five of them on each side of the stage, and glancing up he thought he recognized part of the buildings lining the Sier. The columns must turn, he decided, presenting a new side to the audience with each new scene–and the gods forbid that the scenerymen get their signals crossed or, more likely, the mechanisms were somehow linked, to make sure the proper images came into view.

“Leussi would never have done this,” Siredy said. “Introduced each of them, I mean. Sweet Tyrseis, we’ll be here an hour.”

“Leussi?” Eslingen repeated. The name was somehow familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“He used to be the senior chancellor,” Siredy answered, “but he died, oh, not three weeks ago, poor man. He wasn’t old, either– younger than this one, at any rate.”

Rathe had mentioned the name, Eslingen remembered. That was the co

Siredy smiled, visibly gratified. “Ah, well–and I’m not sure I should tell you this, since I understand you’re a friend of the points.”

“Of at least one pointsman,” Eslingen corrected. Siredy seemed to know entirely too much about everything–but then, it hardly mattered anymore. He wasn’t likely to lose this place for sleeping with a pointsman.

“So one hears.” Siredy glanced over his shoulder, lowered his voice until the other could just make out the words. “The landseur is the grandson of the Soueraine of Ledey, who was a lady of great pride in her lineage.”

“Sixteen quarterings and not a demming in her pocket?” Eslingen asked.

“Thirty‑two, actually, and the money to back them,” Siredy answered. “And all the pride of the Ile’nord behind that. So the story is that, her daughter being sickly and unsuitable, she sent her grandchildren to court–the landseur and his sister, the present soueraine–to uphold the family name, and while they were there, young Aubine took a fancy for a life of learning. It being winter, and the roads into Ledey being blocked, the sister gave permission for him to enroll at the university–I understand he really is rather clever– and then to take lodgings in University Point. And of course while lodging with the common herd, he met another young man, a brewer’s boy, I think, or at least so I’ve heard, and they fell to a liking and then to love. They swore lemanry by midwinter, the sister turning a blind eye to the matter, but with the spring thaw, the word went out to the Ile’nord, and the next thing anyone knew, the soueraine herself descended on Astreiant and snatched both grandchildren out of the city. And the brewer’s boy was found beaten to death in an alley.”